It's Not How it Used to Be
by thisisawittypenname
Summary: Grissom angst, bit of a Snickers pairing. A short postep for Bloodlines. Oneshot


Title: It's Not How it Used to Be

Disclaimer: Still can't raise up the cash. Bummer, huh?

Spoilers: It's set after the 4th season finale, so consider anything up to that point fair game

Summary: Grissom angst, bit of a Snickers pairing. A short post-ep for Bloodlines. Oneshot

A/N: Woah… I haven't written anything in a while, and had a couple ideas bouncing around in my head. This was one of them, so enjoy. Seriously, that's an order :P

* * *

Grissom's PoV

It was… life goes on. It was the world on tape, a show, running smoothly, cutting to commercials while I was still stuck behind the opening credits. It was because I was ignoring and hiding behind weary eye and books read so many times I knew them by heart. It was a camera lens, shifting the focus and cutting me out of the picture. It was a spider; long willowy legs tangling me in a net of gossamer threads.

It was _not_…how it used to be.

Not anymore.

* * *

The casino had roped off that row of slot machines and the two rows in front and back of it. Crime scene tape, yellow, like the stain that this murder would become to the casino, seemed ill fitting here. It was a warning flag; "_this is what society's become_" but no one cared because elsewhere in the casino, bells and whistles sounded and the slots and roulettes and card tables begged to be played, and even the tourist eventually gave up crowding as close to the body as they could in favor of…Vegas.

The manager, pit boss, owner, all stood a few feet back, looking sourly at the scene, trying to cajole Catherine into letting them open the surrounding slots. "Business, ya' know?" I heard one of them shrug through a cloud of cigar smoke, and I didn't bother to turn around and find out which one it was. I lifted up the yellow crime scene tape and Nick and I ducked under it to meet Brass. Catherine could handle those guys. She always could.

* * *

"She was banking on a big payoff" Brass waved us over, eyeing the body on the floor regretfully. I followed his gaze to the girl lying sprawled on the carpet and sighed; she was young. Too young for this town.

"Guess the slots weren't her game" he quipped, before his glance focused over my shoulder. I turned to see a flustered David rush over.

"Traffic was a nightmare" he explained hurriedly, before he crouched down to examine the body. I snapped on latex gloves and heaved an inward sigh. Time to get started.

I saw Nick frown beside me, picking up a plastic cup full of quarters on the girl's slot machine, resting next to her purse. He shook his head sadly before commenting, "Pretty Maggie Money-eyes. Witnesses say she was shot with her hand still on the lever."

I glanced over at him, an eyebrow raised slightly. "Not quite. I believe Ellison's girl was playing silver dollars."

Nick just grinned as David chimed in: "And our Miss Money-eyes didn't die of a heart attack."

* * *

Back at the lab, I immediately retreated into the sheltered confines of my office, letting Catherine and Nick run with the case. I needed some time to think.

My chair moaned in its usual way as I eased my frame into it, and I closed my eyes and relished that sound. It was constant and comforting and expected. It never changed. I don't often like change.

But it happens anyway.

Like with…

My fingers splayed out on the cool surface of my desk, searching for that pen I'd left there. Grasping, they found it, and I was contented to realize it was right where I left it. I tapped it a few times against the desk, but winced from the dull sound it produced. I busied myself with twirling it awkwardly over my fingers.

He made it so easy to like him. Like that Ellison reference; where had that come from? Surely no the Discovery Channel, or Animal Planet. And Thoreau the week before; a nearly flawless quip from Civil Disobedience. You had to respect that. You had to like Nick; it was default. You either liked him or you _loved _him. She loved him, apparently.

I wanted to hate him.

So why couldn't I?

* * *

I heard later they'd been drinking. All three of them, that is. Then Warrick left and it was just the two of them. Then it was just her, taking off, the flashing lights of the strip somehow turning into the pulsating red and blue of Las Vegas' finest.

And then it was her and me. Her and me and a tension so palpable…if I'd wanted to I could've reached out and touché it. She was so far from how she used to be, and although I don't remember I like to think I recognized then that it was mostly my fault. I realize it now, of course, but I think I'll always try to humor myself into thinking I knew it then.

I didn't know.

I didn't know what to say, or how to say it, or if it should be said at all, whatever it is, was. I'm not good with reaching out. People say, and I hear them sometimes, that I'm emotionally stunted. That I just don't understand feelings. Which really isn't fair, because I understand them wholly. I just can't voice them.

My mom's…deaf. I can't verbalize to her, only gesture. That's how I talk. But people can't read me. They can't read actions, but I try anyway and my hand closes over hers.

She hangs her head.

* * *

I drove her home. The car ride was awkward, for me at least. I don't think it even registered to her that…this happened. She just sat there, slumped in her seat, forehead pressed against the glass of the window. My knuckles were white and my tongue was dry.

We got caught by all the traffic lights, glaring red lights telling me to stop and not to move forward.

And now I'm stuck in reverse, going farther and farther back until maybe, if I'm lucky, I can just burrow inside myself an not accept the fact that my sullen car-mate is Sara.

Because that's not how she used to be.

* * *

The silence of the car ride was torture. Finally getting to her complex would leave me begging for any number of hours left to drive.

* * *

I invited myself in without saying anything, and settled into a comfortable looking chair as she wordlessly made her way to the kitchen. I heard the tap running, and the soft clink of glasses. She came out with one of the biggest glasses of water I'd ever seen.

I made a mental note: shame makes you thirsty.

* * *

She sat in the chair furthest away from me, and refused to meet my eye. I could understand that; Sara hates people, me, seeing her like this.

I understood it, but it still hurt.

I didn't know where to begin, so I slipped into supervisor mode, scolding gently and asking her, telling her, to take a week or two off. She let out a hiss of breath and jerked her neck to the side, looking out the window. "If that's what's _best for the lab_" she snapped, her voice almost inaudible. Her eyes flickered to meet mine, before immediately returning to watching…the night outsider her window.

I pushed myself out of the chair as quietly as I could, and made my way over to the end of the sofa, perching on the edge of the cushion. She gave no sign that she even noticed me.

Kind of like I've been doing lately.

* * *

Why was I still here? As far as official capacity went, I was done. But I stayed even though I don't think she really wanted me to.

"Sara…" I said, reaching over to take her hand in mine.

She snatched it back, leaving me grasping for thin air, still not meeting my gaze.

"What?"

She must've been…pissed, shamed, angry, upset, hurt, confused? But there was nothing malicious in that word. She just sounded tired.

_Please let me stay with you_. "Do you want me to stay?"

She let out a sharp laugh, though it might have been (at least partially) a strangled sob. "What? Wanna check my kitchen and make sure I don't get plastered? I can take care of myself, Grissom."

"I know."

My words hung in the air for what could have been days but was only a few seconds. I wasn't sure she heard me, and my mouth opened to repeat my words when:

"I'll just call Nick."

And for the first time that night she looked me square in the eye.

* * *

I didn't have to look at my watch to know I was too late.

* * *

I know I'm being…selfish. I can't bring myself to make a move, but I don't want her to move on. It's not fair and I know that, but still, when I see them…it's like I'm on the outside looking in. I've been left behind, my part as leading man re-cast to Nick.

And that's just now how it used to be.

* * *

A/N: I like this one… took a little bit longer than usual to write, but I think it was worth it. You know how it goes; reviews make my day, so clicky-clicky the button, my friends :D Oh, and if you have time, I'd definitely check out some of (Harlan) Ellison's work. It's really good. 


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